We Need to Talk About Cas
by MyMelancholyBaby
Summary: One-shot Destiel. 2014verse! Dean knows that he needs to convince his 2009 self to do things differently when he gets back. It isn't until Dean looks back at the way he has treated the man he loved that he realizes how far down he has really spiraled. M for violence, language and sex.


**Hey kids. My first Destiel! I'm completley obsessed with 2014 verse Destiel especially, so here goes nothing. **

**Warnings: Rated M for sex, drugs and violence, but hey, it's the end of the world, right? Speaking of which, 2014 is coming up and I'd like to reserve my place in Castiel's drug orgy cabin, please. That dirty, horny, drug-fueled hippie is just my style.**

** If I owned any of these characters, I'd be rich biatch and not writing fan fiction in my sweatpants.**

**Enjoy and leave reviews!**

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Dean found Castiel alone in his cabin.

Finding Castiel alone was a bit like finding a four leaf clover or a twenty dollar bill on the sidewalk. Rare, valuable and just a little bit suspicious.

The cabin still reeked of the skunk that Cas grew out back and smoked almost constantly. Despite this, Cas was leaned over the tiny coffee table, using one of the valueless credit cards to measure himself out a very generous line.

Castiel was rolling up a hundred dollar bill into a narrow straw as he turned to look over his shoulder. Dean could have sworn he saw the son of a bitch's face fall, ever so slightly, as he recognized him. As in, present him. Not the 2009 version of himself that had been walking and talking around camp, scaring the shit out of a bunch of already terrified hunters.

Because that was how the world was divided these days. You were a Croat or you were a hunter. You either got shot or did the shooting. There was no more in between.

"Hello, my fearless leader." Said Cas, smiling that slightly crooked smile at him.

Dean remembered when it used to be rare, like a god damned miracle. Now, the man was flashing those pearly whites all the time. Once he stopped being an angel and discovered just how great it was to shove himself up into a warm and willing body, Cas had become almost as dangerous around women as himself. Horny, good looking and not afraid to use those gorgeous eyes to get exactly what he wanted.

When Dean didn't respond, Cas didn't even have the decency to look surprised. He was used to Dean glowering, glaring, and just generally being disappointed in him.

He took the line, absently rubbing his nose as he turned his attention back to Dean.

"Can I offer you a bump?" asked Cas, smiling and holding up his plastic cap of white powder.

"Don't look so happy to see me." Said Dean, coldly, ignoring his invitation. Dean stood and walked over to where Cas was on his knees in front of the table. Dean stood a little closer to Cas than was absolutely necessary, and a very primal part of his lower body growled in approval as it saw the familiar sight of Castiel on his knees before him. Cas' eyes darkened fractionally as the same memory seemed to strike him. But if Dean wasn't going to say anything, Cas knew better than to try.

The last time he did, he earned himself a broken foot. A gift from Dean and a very obvious indicator of his brand-spanking-new mortality.

"Forgive me, oh, great, wise, magnificent warrior. Thank you for gracing my humble abode with your presence. To what do I owe the unspeakable pleasure?" asked Cas, turning away from Dean, more specifically, Dean's crotch in his face and back to the table. Dean saw his hand twitch and he knew that Cas was just itching to measure himself out another hit. But he didn't.

Back before the other angels jumped ship, back when Cas was just in angel in time-out, he could drink liquor stores and snort an entire drug cartel out of business without batting an eye. Now, however, Cas could, and had, overdosed.

It was Dean who found him, tangled in the sheets next to him. He should have known better than to think that Castiel would fall asleep, naked and sweaty in his arms.

"I'm so tired, Dean," he had murmured into Dean's neck. It was an indication of how comfortable Dean had gotten with him, nestled in his arms, that he didn't note the thin quality in Cas' voice. He was tired and satiated in his post coitus-bliss himself. He welcomed the sleep. Cas feared it.

That was back when making love to Cas was an exercise of salvation, not an act of violence. Back when he could climb into his bed and into his arms and feel forgiven and accepted, not dirty and ashamed. Dean hadn't thought much of Cas' comment at the time and instead he had mumbled something agreeable into Cas' sweaty hairline and dozed off.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

After a lifetime of it, the act of resting was so natural to Dean, that he forgot how much it terrified Cas to his core. Cas hated the idea of lying vulnerable and unaware for hours on end. Dean felt safe with Cas in his bed. He was stupid for assuming Cas would feel the same.

And Dean also forgot that Cas was like a goddamned child except he was big enough to fuck and lie and sneak.

So the ex-angel waited for Dean to drift off and roll over before he did a line to stay awake. Then another. Then another.

Then Dean woke up to Cas, drowning on his own vomit and looking up at him with fear. Not fear like when Dean took him to a whorehouse. Not fear like when Dean had kissed him that first time. But fear like he was going to die, wrapped up in so much humanity and sin that he wasn't even recognizable, with coke that clung to the stubble under his nose and another man's seed crusting on his thigh.

That was the cruelest thing that Cas had ever done to Dean, and Dean never forgave him for it.

"So, I hear that you've been hanging around with other the other, younger, me" said Dean, squatting down to Cas' level. Cas kept his eyes on the table in front of him. He knew exactly where Dean was taking the conversation. "What's that like?"

"Very pleasant. I haven't told him, anything." Said Cas. "I haven't told him about us."

"Good." Snapped Dean.

Cas wasn't afraid of Dean's menacing figure beside him, though he should have been. Dean was rarely good or kind to Castiel anymore. After they built the camp and Dean quickly became the unspoken dictator of the group, he had been very careful about keeping his fears and frustrations away from the prying eyes of his rag-tag band of humans. The hundred or so survivors who looked to him to make sure that they kept on surviving, couldn't see him weak and confused and broken. Cas could.

Then, after Bobby died, Cas was the only one left that Dean could vent his feelings to. At first those feelings had been doubt, fear, regret, guilt. People fought and died at his command and Dean had never asked for that kind of authority. Dean had never wanted it. But, with Bobby in his wheelchair and Cas being… Cas, there wasn't anyone else to do it.

Leadership had been thrust upon Dean, and he didn't always handle it well. But the quiet sadness of a man who was responsible for many lives turned into frustration. He was fucking tired. And he was fucking furious.

One night, they came back from burying Gregg, an ex-marine with a pregnant wife at the camp, when Dean came barging into Cas' room.

"You let him die." He said, in lieu of greeting. The finger he pointed accusingly at Castiel wobbled a bit in the air, making no secret of his state of inebriation. "You drove out with him. You stood next to him. He's dead. You let him die."

"That's not true," said Cas gently, rising to his feet from the bed where he had been reclining back and reading. "You know it isn't true." He walked towards Dean, ready to reach out to him. Ready to pull him into his arms and kiss him and make love to him, like they had a million times before. Castiel could no longer heal a man with a touch. Those angel powers were long gone.

But he could always fix Dean. Somehow, through some human magic that Castiel was just beginning to understand, his touches could make Dean sigh and moan and whisper the most intoxicating things the angel had ever heard. He could take the strong soldier and turn him to putty beneath his fingertips. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Cas thought that it –he- made Dean stronger. Somehow, Cas was able to take away the some of the responsibility, if only for a few sweaty, carnal, panted minutes in the dark and in between the sheets. The next morning, Dean would smile, and then go back to his duty.

Of course, Dean didn't smile anymore.

Cas reached forwards, ready to do the same that night that Gregg had died, but Dean wasn't having it. He slapped Cas' hand away.

Cas looked up at him, for a moment, confused.

"It's war, Dean. It's chaos. People die and you can't control it. It isn't your fault. It isn't my fault. It just is." Cas lifted his hand again, hesitantly, Instead of reaching for Dean's face, like he had before, he settled for grabbing Dean's hip, tracing his belt loops cautiously. Dean licked his lips in that unconscious way that made Cas a little weak in the knees. "Dean, my father created a-"

But Cas' insight to life and death was cut off by Dean's fist ramming into his face.

"It is always your fucking fault, " yelled Dean again, shoving Castiel. "You fucking let Lucifer rise. You fucking _wanted _Sam to kill Lilith. _You _fucking made Sam say yes. Fucking cocksucking motherfuckers. This is all your fault."

Dean punctuated his sentences with more strikes to Cas' face. It was bloody, now. It was swollen. And Cas stood there and took it. He _stood_ there, with those blue eyes looking out at Dean.

Dean couldn't handle that, so he shoved Cas backwards. He landed with a thump on the ground. Dean straddled his chest.

"Fucking cocksucker," he grumbled again, not really paying attention to his drunken slurs and insults. He just wanted to hurt Cas. He just wanted to humiliate him and make him feel powerless, just like him.

The fact that Cas was human because he chose to fight beside Dean, to die beside Dean if need be, didn't matter. Dean was pissed at angels, all angels, and here one was trapped beneath him.

Between being drunk and on the verge of a serious psychotic breakdown, Dean fumbled with his pant zipper. After a few tries, he pulled out his half hard dick and shoved in Cas' face.

"You fucking wanted me, right? That's why you raised me. You and all the other angels wanted a piece of me. So here I am. Suck me." He ordered, but his voice broke. Castiel scooted a few inches to obey him.

He wasn't afraid _of _Dean, he was afraid _for _him. And if Dean kept on looking at Cas, at _his _Cas while he made him do this…

"Don't look at me like that," Dean meant to bark. It came out like a plea, "I said don't fucking _look _at me."

And while Cas' lips were still around him, Dean punched him again. Cas sputtered in pain, his yelp muffled by Dean's cock in his mouth.

And that was when Dean felt it.

Cas was addicted to the coke that kept him from sleeping. He was addicted to the booze that kept him from feeling and he was addicted to the women that kept him company while Dean was doing what had to be done.

Dean became addicted to this. To Cas, bleeding and humiliated and abused. He became addicted to making the angel show all the things on the outside that he felt within. Dean could never do this to a woman. He could never do it to anyone else in the camp. Castiel was the only one who could handle his administrations. He was the only one who _would _put up with his abuse.

Dean pulled out of Cas' mouth and grabbed a handful of his short and messy hair. Cas let out a small whimper as Dean yanked him. Awkwardly, Dean clambered off of Cas' chest and pulled Cas up to his knees.

But Cas didn't look humiliated or scared. He eyed Dean calmly in a way that reminded him far too much of the angel that he once knew, silently surveying the world around him without judgment, perhaps cocking his head quizzically to the side as he pondered.

So Dean shoved him, face first into the dirty cabin floor, ripping at the faded, worn jeans that this hippie Cas seemed so fond of.

Lube was for making love. Spit was for fucking. But Dean wanted Cas to hurt, so he shoved two fingers into him, right up to the knuckle without any sort of help or preparation.

That finally earned the reaction that the venomous monster within him was trying to get the whole time. Castiel yelled in pain and tried to buck Dean off. But Castiel wasn't as strong as he used to be, so Dean responded by rubbing his face into the cabin floor. Cas was sputtering now, his hands scratching at the floor, trying to break from Dean's grasp.

Now that Dean couldn't see Cas' face, he could breathe freely. It was kind of like Hell all over again, when he had an anonymous soul lying out in front of him, completely at his mercy, just begging for some sympathy.

Power could be intoxicating and power could be crippling.

Dean's day job version of power, leading the resistance in a war that he knew he didn't have a popsicle's chance in hell of winning was like being tortured on the rack. Knives in his stomach, hooks in his flesh, gnawing, ripping, bleeding.

But this? Oh, this was an exercise in masochism and sadism and he fucking loved it. He _loved _it.

And it was so much easier without Cas looking up at him.

He rammed another finger into Cas and Cas let out a muffled sob as Dean stared to move his three fingers.

"Dean, please," Cas voice was broken and weak and pleading, "Stop."

The erection that had been growing as he watched Cas tremble beneath him went soft at the raw note in his voice.

He couldn't pretend, anymore. He couldn't pretend that it was some faceless angel who had wronged him. It was… Cas. His Cas.

So Dean pulled his head up by the roots of his hair again and slammed his face back into the floor. Cas got the idea and fell silent and still, waiting for Dean to be done with him.

Once Cas stopped fighting him, Dean started to feel the sticky shame of regret. So he pulled his fingers out of Cas and stood, zipping his pants as he did. He all but ran to the door. As he got there, he couldn't resist looking back over his shoulder.

Cas was laid out on the floor still, his ass stripped and abused, his pants around his thighs.

The worst part was that Dean caught Cas' eyes. The angel was watching him leave. He didn't call him a bastard or a pig or a rapist. He had every right to, but he didn't. Cas would never say those words to him.

Later that night, Dean cried. Not manly, dry sobs like they do in the movies, but huge, racking tears of self hate and humiliation. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn't get Cas' blood out from under his fingernails.

Dean licked his finger and wiped the residue from Cas' line off the table, rubbing it on his gums.

Dean hated coke. He hated snorting it. He hated eating it. But it was Cas' drug of choice, so he had long since gotten used to it.

Cas watched his finger, raising his eyebrows as Dean slid it into his mouth. Dean remembered happier times between him and Cas in that cabin. Because, for some reason, they always did it in Cas' cabin.

He had been the first to get on his knees for the angel. He had sucked Cas' fingers, trying to show him what it would be like, swirling his tongue around them. The noises Cas had made as Dean gave the first blow job of his life was the most exquisite sound in the world. He wasn't good, but from the way Castiel's breath was coming heavily from his nose and the way his fingers tangled in Dean's hair, no one would ever know the difference.

Dean couldn't remember the last time he had pleasured the angel instead of demanding gratification from him. Now it was like Dean had forgotten how to be gentle to him. Like, somehow, he couldn't be near Cas without that mean and violent beast raising it's head. Addiction was a hard son of a bitch to break, and Cas had been Dean's addiction for as long as he could remember.

But Cas was hardly celibate. Dean wasn't just worried about what Cas would _say_ to his 2009 self.

"You're jealous of you?" asked Cas, guessing the motives for Dean's rare visit. He gave a laugh. "_You're_ jealous of _you_?"

"Don't you dare fuck him."

"Oh, I didn't plan to." Said Cas, "Besides, I'm not the one with the history of cheating."

"We're not a fucking couple." Barked Dean. "Don't go around, telling people that we're a fucking couple."

Cas shook his head, dismissing the conversation, but smiling as he did so. Dean knew that it was no use. The camp was small. Nights were quiet. There was never anything to do at night and you could almost always hear what (or who) everyone else was doing.

It was long established that Castiel was Dean's… something. You didn't mess with Castiel and get away with it.

But it was also acknowledged that they weren't always exclusive. Women wandering in and out of both of their cabins at all hours of the day or night were commonplace. Despite the fact that there were more than a few women who would happily volunteer, as far as anyone knew, they had never invited a third into their nights together.

When Cas and Dean were together, you made sure you were nowhere close to interrupting.

Women were common. Men were unheard of. That was why Jane came bursting into Castiel's cabin the morning that she saw Chuck stumbling out from Dean's lodgings.

Castiel kicked Liz, the woman giving him head at the time, out and demanded that Jane tell him everything.

"I mean, I heard… you know," she said apologetically, "And I sort of saw something. I thought it was you at first, you know, I saw him from behind. He kind of looks like you."

The way she said it was like another apology and pacification at the same time. That was when Castiel first got acquainted with the cold hard human reality of jealousy.

Castiel knew that sexuality was fluid. Friction was friction, heat and wetness was heat and wetness. But he also knew that Dean adamantly claimed to be straight. He would say it even as he slid down Castiel's body to suck his cock. He called himself a 'Cas-sexual.' Straight until Castiel was within arm's reach.

That was back when Dean would make jokes. Back when they made love instead of the harsh and frantic nights that had been in Cas' cabin as of late. Their current interactions resembling a prison rape instead of the partnership of two friends who had literally been to Hell and back. The only survivors of the ridiculous illusion of 'Team Free Will.'

But Dean had fucked Chuck, and Cas knew for a fact that he was the only one who got to see the snarled, broken, sadistic Dean who held him into the floor and hurt him until he screamed out for him to stop. Chuck had stopped having visions the minute that Sam had said 'yes.'

That meant that Dean not only fucked Chuck. It meant that Dean kissed Chuck, and sucked Chuck and seduced Chuck in a way that he hadn't done to Cas in so long.

And Cas couldn't handle it.

Cas could handle that Dean had some violence to release. Frustration and desperation that bubbled under the leader's surface needed an outlet. Cas could take it.

Cas also understood Dean's need for other companionship in the form of a woman. He had lived his whole life sleeping with the fairer sex and what was the good of being the General of the post apocalyptic brigade if he didn't get to screw a few?

But Dean screwing around with another man? Doing the things he used to do with Cas with Chuck? That burned Castiel in a way that he would never forget.

So Castiel kissed Jane and fucked her on the same bed that Liz had been on minutes before. Because he knew that it would piss Dean off. Jane was the one girl left in the camp that had resisted Dean's charms.

So Castiel used her as revenge.

"Where is he, anyways?" asked Cas, "Past you, that is?"

"Locked to a water heater in my cabin."

Castiel nodded. Amused, but unsurprised. Dean noted that he was twitching for something to smoke or snort or drink. He remembered when Castiel didn't even eat. Now the man, not angel anymore, but man, couldn't even stand to be human, just plain human, for an entire hour.

He always surrounded himself with people because the silence in his head, which used to be filled with the voices of other angels, was deafening. He always drank because feeling things, like pain or discomfort drove him crazy. He did coke because he hated sleep and he did weed because it was there and made him feel good.

"He's supposed to be scared. He's supposed to see how fucked up I become. So that way he can do things differently."

"Well then maybe you _should_ tell him about us." Joked Cas, "That'll really set him straight. Fucking me was the worst mistake you ever made in your life."

"Cas, I…" sputtered Dean. "I…I…"

"That's what you said last night." Said Cas, a strained smile plastered on his face. He gently nudged Dean in the ribcage. He was trying so hard to keep the conversation light that it was tearing Dean up into a million ribbons on the inside. No blade could cut him the way that Castiel's eyes in that moment did.

Dean recognized the words, alright. He had spit them out into Cas' back as he had him pinned against the wall. They had long since stopped being together face to face. They used to switch off, both being the top or the bottom whenever the other needed it more. Now it was always Dean, shoving into Castiel from behind like an animal, growling the meanest things he could think of into Cas' ear.

But now, Dean felt regret like nothing he had ever felt before.

Because, suddenly he realized that Cas _believed_ all those things that Dean said in his worst moments. After months and months of hearing it over and over, how could he not? Cas believed that Dean blamed him for losing Sam. Cas believed that Dean hated him. Cas believed that he deserved it.

That was why he took it without complaint.

"It's OK." Said Cas, "Just because you don't love me doesn't mean you don't need me. If you need a punching bag, I'll be your punching bag."

"Cas" choked Dean.

Cas didn't want to look at him and Dean realized that it wasn't the hitting and the hurting that had broken Cas. Never, in the five years since they had started being together in every sense of the word, had Dean told Cas that he loved him.

And now it was too late. Cas was picking at the coffee table, avoiding Dean's eyes. If Dean said it to him now, he wouldn't believe it. How could he? Cas wasn't so naieve to human interactions to not know that how Dean treated him wasn't how people were supposed to treat the ones that they loved.

"I'm really tired." Said Cas.

Dean knew he wasn't. Cas would eat paper before he voluntarily fell asleep. He wanted Dean to leave him alone. He wanted Dean to go away. So Dean did.

Dean walked to his cabin quickly. He didn't watch where he was going. He didn't say hello to his fellow campmates. He all but sprinted up the steps, just to find his 2009 self clawing at a nail in the hardwood floor. 2009 Dean looked up guiltily.

He should have said it, that first night, years ago. That night when he was missing Sam so bad that he called Cas.

Castiel stood in his motel room for a few minutes before Dean realized that he could have called Bobby. He could have called one of his other hunting friends. He could have called a girl. Instead he called Cas. Because Cas wasn't just a friend. Cas wasn't just family. Cas wasn't just a fuck. Cas was Cas.

And Dean kissed him. And Castiel, angel of the lord, kissed him right back.

And he should have said it then.

The next morning, he blamed the whiskey. When it happened again, the night after that, he blamed the tequila. Then the rum. Then the whiskey again. Then it got to the point that Dean didn't even bother blaming anything and Castiel never asked for an explanation, as if going from hunting buddies to sucking each others' tongues was the most natural thing in existence.

2009 Dean rubbed his wrists after 2014 Dean unlocked them. He stood hesitantly, watching as his future self went to the cabinet and grabbed a half empty bottle of Patron.

2014 Dean held it to his lips for so long that 2009 Dean could see tiny bubbles going through the tequila. 2014 Dean held the bottle out to his younger self, who followed suit, taking a generous swig right from the bottle. When he made to hand it back to future Dean, future Dean shook his head.

"Trust me." He said, "You're going to need that. Sit down."

2009 Dean looked apprehensive as he obeyed.

"When you go back, you have to do things differently."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not letting Sam out of my sight for a minute. I'm not saying 'yes' though. I'm not."

2014 Dean waved his hand through the air, dismissing 2009 Dean's protest. He would change his mind eventually. Even if he didn't, at the very least, he had to do this differently. Even if everything happened just as it did, the Croats, the war, and the death. If Castiel knew that he loved him, then it would all be better. It would be tolerable. All he needed was Cas. All he had ever needed was Cas.

He should have said it then.

"Take another shot," warned Dean, sitting across from his past self, "We need to talk about our feelings and we need to talk about Cas."

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**Hey everyone! I love the support I've gotten for this story. I'd like to remind you that I'm very needy and trusting, so this story is open to anonymous reviews from people who don't have accounts on this site. **

**BUT this is the end. I'm not posting another chapter. **

**It's a moment of clarity. A moment when Dean realizes that his life and his relationship has come to this point because of choices he made. And he has regrets. We all have regrets. Dean has a rare opportunity to change things, but as far as 2014 Dean is concerned his life is this. **

**I think it's poetic in it's lack of concrete conclusion, because everyone's life and thoughts and relationships lack concrete conclusions. **

**Sorry, kids. But there really isn't a point in "following" this story. I do love reviews and favorites though! **


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